


Take Me Home

by AutumnSwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet at a Festival AU, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSwitch/pseuds/AutumnSwitch
Summary: When Dean gets sick at a music festival, Castiel is there to make sure he gets home safely.Prompt fill originally posted on tumblr.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Take Me Home

Dean felt like the room was pulsing. He couldn’t tell if it was the bass pounding from the speaker behind him or the splitting headache, but fuck if he didn’t find Sammy soon he might actually leave his ass behind. Pressing his hands into his eye sockets, Dean called his brother’s name again. 

How hard could it be to find a giant in a sea of idiots. He frowned at the kids dancing; they couldn’t tell good music from a car horn.

He’d been searching during this DJ’s entire set and cursed his weak stomach. Why did he trust Sam to stay put while he went the bathroom? Well, it’d probably be easier to find him if his eyes were working properly. With a deep sigh, Dean opened and shielded his eyes.

The lights strobed over the crowd, illuminating all in vibrant Technicolor. Music blared, lights flickered, the smell of sweat, liquor, and smoke hung heavy in the venue. It was all too much. It felt like the room was getting hotter, smaller. His heart picked up its pace as panic began to set in. He was not getting sick; not here, not now. Dean’s stomach lurched and he reached out to steady himself against a stranger. Once he found Sam, they still had an hour’s drive home. And there was no way in hell that little shit was going to get behind the wheel of his baby after drinking. 

“Sam!” The pressure in Dean’s skull swelled with every shout. Not even one soul looked in his direction. Seriously? Not one person named Sam in this place?

Dean pushed through the swarm of bodies, not putting up any effort to ask for pardon. He doubted anyone would hear it anyway. 

It was only a few meters to the bar, but it seemed too far to reach. The island promised a cool drink and a stool for better vantage point. He risked another glance around the dance floor, but it gave him no new information about Sam’s whereabouts. That goofball better not have ducked off to bone some librarian looking undergrad with pink cat-eye glasses. Again.

When he turned back to the bar, Dean swore under his breath. Somehow he had let the crowd push him further toward the stage. The music was louder, the air thicker, and his head started spinning. The urge to scream was overwhelming, but Dean took a deep breath and steeled his expression. 

He took a step forward and swayed into another stranger. 

“Watch it,” someone grumbled. A pair of rough hands shoved him hard from behind and Dean stumbled into the mass of brain-washed drones. Their arms flailed about as they spazzed to their sorry excuse for music. 

Dean didn’t even bother flipping off the asshole that pushed him and used his new momentum to get closer to the bar counter. He was almost there, just a few more steps to go. 

Another push from the crowd and Dean was tripping over his own feet, slipping on a floor covered in spilled alcohol and sweat. He threw out his arms to break his fall to no avail. His knees met the ground with a sharp crack, but he didn’t feel anything when his head did the same.

* * *

Castiel had been watching him from the bar. His breath had caught in his throat each time the guy had surged closer. His heart fell every step he had backtracked, swallowed up by the crowd. The young man had been like a leaf on wave, coming in and going out, but never quite reaching the shore. 

When the man began to stumble, Castiel could tell something was wrong. Drunk, was his first thought. Stoned, maybe. Concern wrinkled his features when he saw the guy’s staggered steps. He couldn’t sit idly by as the handsome stranger floundered in the current. Setting down his drink and rising to his feet, Castiel kept the guy locked in his sights. His determined pace cut through the crowd with little resistance.

Castiel couldn’t make it to the stranger in time to break his fall, but he was first to pull him up after he passed out. With a few others sober enough to help, Castiel dragged the guy to a booth near the back. A door was propped open for those that yearned to fill their lungs with menthol and tar. The booth reeked of tobacco, but there was a breeze blowing that cooled off the area. Though Castiel had been hoping to expose the man to some fresh air, this would have to do for now. 

Castiel pulled the guy’s arms from his jacket and tossed it onto the table. The flannel button up was next. Who wore layers in the summer anyway? He left him in a grey Henley and brushed the matted hair from his face. And damn, was that a good-looking face. Castiel studied the lines of the stranger’s jaw and nose, his eyes lingering on the pair of full lips. Under normal circumstances, Castiel thought he would take time to put each freckle to memory. Maybe even ask the guy to model for a portrait, and not just use it as a pick-up. Castiel shook the fantasy from his thoughts. The man had blacked out on the dance floor and it was no time to ogle. 

He flagged down a passing waitress and was relieved to receive a tall glass of melting ice. The girl mumbled something about “light weights” and left after snapping, “Your friend better not die here tonight.”

Castiel’s stared after her in disbelief. He could never understand how callous some people could be. 

Laying the guy on the wooden bench, head in his lap, Castiel dragged ice cubes over his face and neck. He moistened the stranger’s chapped lips, remembering a time when his sister had done something similar during the flu as a child. Dehydration was dangerous.

When the glass was empty and the collar of his shirt soaked with melted ice, the man groaned but did not wake. Even unconscious, the man’s forehead was lined with worry. Castiel wondered what could trouble someone so young, so deeply.

Castiel began to get nervous. He had taken responsibility for this stranger based on a handsome face. But for all he knew, the waitress could have been right. This guy could be tripping on some club cocktail and, heaven forbid, die in his arms. 

With the man’s face between his hands, Castiel prayed. He prayed for the man’s health and speedy recovery. He prayed for the wisdom to know when to call for an ambulance. When he had run out of words of desperation, Castiel opened his eyes and frowned.

Still, no change.

An apology on his lips, Castiel reared his hand back and slapped the man across the cheek. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. As he slapped him again, Castiel reached into his pocket for his cell phone. The man let out another groan and Castiel released a sigh of relief. 

The man blinked up at him with a grimace. “Ow.” He turned onto his side and covered his face with his hands. Castiel froze. The man gave no indication that he was uncomfortable in the lap of a stranger, so Castiel was careful not to startle him. His hands hovered awkwardly where they had been carding through the man’s hair. He didn’t know how long the man laid there, but it was long enough that Castiel had to remind himself to breathe.

Every now and then, the stranger let out little whimpers. He brought his knees to his chest and at one point fisted a hand in Castiel’s shirt. When he settled down again, his breaths even and slow, Castiel returned his hands to the man’s hair. He tried asking what the guy had taken, if he was on any pills. But when he started to speak the man buried his face deeper into Castiel’s hip and shook his head in protest.

It was rather disconcerting to have so much responsibility for a stranger, no matter how attractive he was. Castiel wasn’t sure that he was handling this the right way. Some voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was taking advantage of the man in his illness. It nagged at him, but offered no alternative for bringing the man to safety.

Suddenly, the guy shot up to a seated position and forced himself to his feet. Even in the disco lighting the man looked pale and Castiel wondered if he would be able to walk. One hand clutched to his stomach, the other using the wall for balance, he staggered toward the open door. 

Castiel followed close behind; his words of concern drowned out by the music. 

The man made it only a few steps out of the venue before he was hurling onto the pavement. 

“You are dehydrated,” Castiel stated matter-of-fact as he assessed the vomit on the floor. 

“Shove off, dude.” Dean’s body heaved again, but came up dry. He felt an arm slip round his waist, holding him up as his knees wobbled. This was not how he wanted to spend his night. He couldn’t remember the name of the club or the face of the person pressed against his side. It must have been one of Sam’s friends and through the pounding of his head Dean felt that he was forgetting something important. 

He felt weak on his feet and even though part of him was sending up warnings of some unnamed danger, Dean couldn’t help but lean heavily against his companion.

Castiel saw the man’s legs about to give out and stepped closer. There wasn’t much else he could do, but make sure the guy didn’t fall face-first into his own mess. So, he offered support and introduced himself. “My name is Castiel. I pulled you from –.”

Dean felt his stomach churn, and turned into the stranger’s waiting shoulder. “Fuck, my head.” He cut the Castle-person off with a desperate sound and grumbled into the guy’s shirt, knocking his aching skull into the unforgiving bone. The pain was oddly welcome. Different from the growing pressure inside, there was some relief in causing the new hurt. It almost gave some sense of control.

Castiel stood stiffly, wondering how acceptable it would be to embrace the man as he agonized over his situation. It wouldn’t do to hold him tightly, just in case there was another wave of nausea. He reached up and tenderly placed his palm against the man’s back, relaxing a bit as he felt him rise into the touch. 

In a swirling sea of confusion, Castiel felt a small surge of something like genuine affection. His companion, for some reason, was seeking out his comfort. In the way he curled into his lap and here in his arms, there was intimacy and familiarity. Castiel tipped his head curiously, his cheek to rest on the man’s head. 

Dean gave his forehead and Castle’s shoulder a break from his repetitive banging when a light warmth covered the small of his back. It was distracting enough to take the sting from his headache and Dean knew he was arching into the touch shamelessly. At this point, he had no energy to try to impress Cas and he really didn’t care. Chances were he was one of Sam’s friends from school anyway and nothing would transpire between them. So he’d made himself a pretty shitty first impression. That was fine. It’s not like he was interested in any of Sam’s college buddies. 

Holding himself up with his hands on Cas’s hips, Dean took a few more shaky breaths and gathered his bearings. “Where the hell is Sam? I have to find Sam.” 

“OK.” Cas’s voice was steady and reassuring. “We will find Sam.” 

Dean lifted his head to see the source of the words and stared. He recognized this guy, but not from Sam’s dorms. He knew those eyes from somewhere, but the crash-boom of his migraine made it impossible to place them. Maybe he and Cas had gone to school together. Maybe they had hooked up in the past. 

Did it matter? Should this change the way Dean leaned into the guy’s shoulder? Must he give voice to the muddled apology rising in his chest? His mind betrayed him as it refused to make sense of the situation, instead thundering on with blinding pain. 

As their eyes met, Castiel’s face fell. He looked into the young man’s hazel-green irises and saw no spark of recognition. If he was honest with himself, Castiel wasn’t sure he’d know what recognition looked like in a person, but he assumed it wouldn’t look like nausea and panic. 

Castiel patted the man’s back and promised him that they would find Sam, whoever Sam was. He considered it could be a girlfriend or boyfriend and carefully held back a tide of disappointment. The guy edging toward him through the dance floor had been dehydrated and searching for a lost friend. Castiel was foolish enough to think that the guy was trying to get to him. He was probably just looking to get a drink. 

Castiel could do that; he was a good guy afterall. He could get him that drink, help him find his friend. 

“Gonna kill my bitch-faced little brother. Lost him after the first set.” Dean draped an arm over Cas’s shoulders and he wanted to smile. Hand to God, he wanted to give his cockiest, lop-sided grin. The kind that said this is how I walk with all my friends. It’s casual, it means nothing. We’re buds; we’re cool; we’re nothing more. But the smile never makes it to his lips. Dean turned to Cas and his face twisted into a pathetic frown. He must have lifted his head too fast because the world was suddenly going dark again. 

Castiel noticed the way his eyes blanked out and quickly took the man’s weight onto himself. He was lowering him into a seated position against the building when a strong hand spun him around by the shoulder. 

Castiel squared off his shoulders in a defensive posture, a dare-you-to-do-something scowl already in place. It didn’t matter that the man before him was some over-grown genetic experiment. With his baby-face and glassy eyes, he couldn’t intimidate Castiel if he tried. But it didn’t really look like that was what he was trying to do. 

“What do you want?” Castiel’s question came like a growl through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to waste time with some jerk-off. His new friend needed care and Castiel considered that it was about time he called that ambulance. The guy could have suffered a concussion from his fall or God-knows what from whatever drugs and alcohol he took that evening.

“Is he OK?” The taller man peered easily over Castiel’s shoulder to survey the one on the ground. “Shit, man, what happened?” He moved to come closer and looked surprised to feel Castiel’s hands against his chest, pushing him back. “Dude, what the Hell? Who the heck do you think you are?”

“A friend.” His lip still curled in a snarl, Castiel glanced between the two men. “And you?”

“I’m Sam? Dean’s brother?” It hadn’t occurred to Castiel that Sam would have found them first. He eyed the man who called himself Sam suspiciously, but Sam held his ground. With a note of concern, he lifted his arm and gestured to Dean. “Is he all right?”

“He needs fluids.” Castiel answered and granted Sam closer inspection. “I suspect he’ll require hospitalization if we don’t act quickly.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the suggestion that they’d both be handling the situation together, but he didn’t question it aloud. “No hospital if we can help it. Dad will kill him. And then Dean will come back from the dead and kill me. Help me get him to the car?”

“Of course.” Castiel managed Dean’s weight easily on his own as Sam fished his brother’s pockets for the keys. 

On the way to the car, Dean regained and lost consciousness at least twice. Both times whining apologies about something neither Cas nor Sam could make sense of, though they clearly heard Castiel’s shortened name pass his lips more than once. 

Castiel explained to Sam what he had seen in the dance hall, how Dean became disoriented and fainted. He skipped over the cuddly bits on the booth and described Dean’s vomit in gross detail.

Sam gagged, “TMI, dude. I get it. He’s dehydrated.” He adjusted his grip on his brother, though it didn’t seem to help much. Dean was clearly favoring Castiel’s support over his. “We’ve got some sports drinks in the trunk. He’ll be fine once we get him home.” 

They found the car easily, despite the crowded lot. There weren’t many cars of that body-type in the garage and Sam had a good memory for where it was parked. 

Sam hesitated at the driver’s side door and then held out the keys to Cas. “You can drive, right?”

Castiel nodded. His own car was around here somewhere, though he reasoned it would not be difficult to pick up tomorrow. “Where is home?”

They took the long drive with the windows open, Castiel checking the rearview mirror every minute to check on Dean and to ascertain directions from Sam. Sam led them over the highway and through the back roads to the house he said belonged to their uncle. Every now and again, Dean would wake enough to drink from the bottle of juice and Sam would carefully tip the drink into his brother’s mouth. 

Something pinched behind Castiel’s ribs as he caught sight of Dean’s pained expression, but he couldn’t understand why. He had done what he set out to do. Dean was safe now, with family. He was holding down fluids and was likely going to be hung-over in the morning, but otherwise fine.

* * *

He pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine. Their uncle’s house was kind of in the middle of nowhere and Castiel began to wonder how he was supposed to get home. Even if they could get Dean stabilized and into bed, Castiel couldn’t, in good conscience, let Sam drive under the influence. 

A scruffy middle-aged man stood on the front porch with his hands crossed over his chest. “And what in the heck do you idjits think you’re doin? Draggin’ in at the butt-crack of dawn…” He cuts himself short when he sees Dean slumped against Sam’s frame. In a few long strides he was before them, giving Dean a good once-over and nodding in his assessment. “Well, shit, boys. Get yer asses inside and I’ll fix up the standard.”

Their uncle’s hangover cure was a pasty, brown sludge that looked like it came out of an old engine and the man poured a generous amount into three glasses laid out in front of the boys. Castiel had half a mind to refuse on principle. He felt fine and certainly didn’t need help with a hangover, but with a nudge from Sam he thanked Bobby and brought the drink to his lips. After a few big gulps, Sam’s glass was empty. Cas found that if he held his nose the concoction went down easier. Worry nagged at his stomach, however, when he saw that Dean was still slumped in the chair, his head resting in his arms. 

Bobby slapped a frozen bag of peas against Dean’s neck and shook him until he was conscious and blinking about the room as if waking from a dream. “You take any drugs, son?” 

Dean turned his head in answer and whimpered something that sounded like he was pleading with his brain. He burrowed deeper into his arms and leaned further into Castiel’s personal space.

It was answer enough for Bobby who swapped out the sludge for another sports drink and gave Castiel a look. “Make sure he drinks that. I’ll get his pill.”

Castiel nodded and tacked on a quick “Yes, sir” as he fumbled with the plastic bottle. He asked Sam to find him a straw and managed to coax Dean into sipping from the drink at a steady rate. When Bobby returned with the medicine, Castiel took it without hesitation and pushed the small pill past Dean’s lips with his finger. He made no comment on the strange looks he received; instead focusing his energy and attention on Dean’s careful swallows.

* * *

Dean woke to another wave of nausea and the sound of two familiar voices having a heated argument at low volume. 

“Toby McGuire wasn’t a good Peter Parker because he doesn’t look like a dork.” That voice came from somewhere near by, perhaps a few feet away. It was easy, even through the lingering pound of his headache, to recognize his brother’s shitty attempt at whispering.

“He could have, perhaps, demonstrated more social awkwardness as Peter Parker, if that is what you are suggesting.” The second voice was closer, almost like the guy was standing over him. He remembered Cas from the festival and his heart skipped a little. So he had stuck around. That was good. But now there was no question that he was one of Sammy’s friends and officially off limits. Cas hummed a bit and Dean imagined he could feel the air rumbling around him, “In my opinion, he was enough of a dork.”

“No,” Sam insisted. “Toby McGuire is like a broken Elijah Wood.”

“What does that even mean?”

Dean wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the energy for it. He could almost hear the confused frown on Cas’s face through his question. And that’s strange, isn’t it? Dean can’t even bring to mind a clear picture of the guy, but he knows the sound of his frown. That can’t be right. 

Squeezing his eyes shut at Sam’s latest complaint of casting choices, Dean had had enough. The debate, if he could call it that, was going nowhere and he wanted it to end almost as much as he wished his head would just quit already. “Shut it. Both of you.” He said, voice muffled by the pillow against his cheek. “Unless this conversation shifts to the subject of Lord of the Rings or Spider Gwen, you both are forbidden to speak.” 

The room fell silent for a while and Dean was almost pleased with himself for having such power over them in his weakened state. 

As he squirmed on the couch, making himself more comfortable, he loathed to admit that he sort of missed the soft rumbling tones of Cas’s voice. It was better to push that thought down, though. No sense in fanning the flames for some guy he’d never allow himself to pursue.

Arching his back in a small stretch, Dean breathed relief. His arms hugged the cushion supporting his head. It gave a little as he nuzzled into it, the fabric soft against his skin. It was firmer than Dean’s pillow from his bedroom and he liked the way it kept its shape and refrained from sagging. He hummed into the warm pressure and pulled in closer.

There was a gasp from above and then the cushion went tense under his cheek. Dean opened his eyes, one at a time, keeping his chin tucked down to this chest. He recognized the plaid patterned pajamas he’d gotten last Christmas, but they were on someone else’s legs. More specifically, the pants clothed the thigh Dean was quite possessively holding in place. 

He started to freak out. Nothing major; just took a few sharp breaths and his heart danced the tarantella. His head really couldn’t handle anything major. No quick movements, Dean reminded himself. No long, drawn out thought process. He tried to get himself to relax. This was fine. Situation normal. Nothing weird going on, not by the way Sam and Cas had been casually conversing just moments ago. 

“Cas?” Dean spoke, his voice soft and shy. He had to be sure that he hadn’t made a fool of himself. 

There was another gasp and Dean’s face fell in the silence that followed. His heart was beating so hard that he could actually feel blood surging through the constricted blood vessels to his brain. The migraine, coupled with the feeling of rejection, hurt more than Dean thought it should. He felt the overwhelming urge to apologize.

Before he could get the words out, Dean felt the weight of a hand on his head. There was a shift on the couch and it sounded like someone had got up and left, but the lap and hand remained in place.

Castiel gave Sam a nod as he left, offering them some privacy. He wasn’t sure what would happen, as it appeared that Dean was still feeling quite ill, but he appreciated the time alone with him. Castiel raked his fingers through Dean’s hair. It was a bit greasy from the sweat of the concert and in need of a wash, but he didn’t mind. His mouth curved in a fond expression as he thought about what to say. 

Together they were quiet a while. Castiel’s thigh remained in Dean’s embrace and his hand moved over his scalp. When Castiel finally managed to speak, he didn’t try to analyze their companionship or read into the way Dean was drawing lazy circles over his knee. His fingertips brushed over Dean’s forehead and he asked, “Do you experience migraine headaches often?”

Dean was caught off guard by the question, but it seemed a fairly safe subject. No mistaking this for flirting. He answered honestly, “Not so much. Well, a few days per month? Maybe people think that’s a lot. Most don’t get this bad. I take medicine when I feel it coming on and it helps. I didn’t have any on me when we went to the concert. The heat, the noise, the lights… triggered a bad one.”

“Why did you go? If you knew there would be those triggers?” His hand was moving again, absently scratching behind Dean’s ear. He didn’t notice until Dean spoke up about it.

“That feels nice.” Dean felt his face flush, but he tried to ignore it and press on. “I went to make sure Sam was OK. No offense, but some of his friends are not very responsible. And I got a right to have fun too.”

Dean thought he could hear an honest to God snort come from above him. “I do not understand how you could call last night fun.” 

Cas almost sounded mad at him and Dean wasn’t sure why. The fingers continued to move and scratch, though, so Dean reasoned that he couldn’t be too upset. “Would you… would you squeeze? Yeah, right there,” Dean said as Cas massaged the base of his skull. “And down my neck? Jesus, that’s good.”

Castiel was happy to provide Dean some relief and massaged his scalp and neck until his fingers were sore and Dean had fallen back to sleep. 

When Sam came in it was to ask what he felt like having for lunch and he helped Castiel untangle himself from Dean’s octopus arms. Castiel was grateful that he had freedom to relieve his bladder and walk around a bit, but was also quick to return to the couch again. If Dean woke before the pizzas were out of the oven, he wanted to be there. He knew it wasn’t a necessity, but caring for him was the only way they had related thus far. As much as he hoped Dean would wake fully recovered, he would miss the feeling of having him so close.

“Fuck,” Dean dragged his hands over his face and huffed into the rough fabric of the couch cushion. He knew he must have been dreaming and his throat felt like sandpaper as he drew out the word again. 

Peeking out from the kitchen Sam gave a hearty laugh and waved at his brother, “Good to have you back, Dean.” He held up a slice of pizza like a tease. “Got a few pieces with your name on it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean took his time getting to his feet, feeling drained from the migraine though the worst of it had finally passed. He was still rubbing at his eyes when he made his way to the kitchen table. The warm food smelled good and his stomach rumbled like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Told you not to drive, bitch,” Dean half-complained as he slid into his chair.

“Jerk. Got you home safe, didn’t I?” Sam dropped a slice of meat lover’s on Dean’s plate and placed a can of cola next to it. “Besides, I didn’t.”

Dean’s eyes flew open and he reared up on Sam in disbelief, “You left baby at the show?” 

Sam didn’t look scared. He should have. Dean was ready to punch that smug look off his face, family or not. But Sam just met his gaze, eye brows lifted in confusion. “Your car’s in the drive way. What do you remember?”

Dean shrugged. “Got sick during the first set and you disappeared. Met up with Cas and went outside a bit.” Dean was purposefully vague. He remembered a lot more, but was having trouble separating dream from reality. A quick glance around the kitchen gave no clue of Cas being there and if that was part of the dream, then Dean was still unclear of how they made it home.

“After Cas found you, he helped me get you home.”

Dean nodded, that wasn’t really news to him.

“He’s a good one, D.”

He nodded again. He couldn’t see why Sam was making note of that unless Dean had done something to offend the guy. The way Sam was looking at him, like he was expecting Dean to say something, put him on edge. “What?”

Sam knew better than to poke and prod his brother about relationship stuff, but it never stopped him from drawing Dean into these chick-flick moments. “How did you meet?”

“I probably puked on his shoes or something.” Dean popped the can of soda and banged it against the table to get rid of some of the fizz. He couldn’t take all the carbonation while his stomach was still sensitive, but pizza? Hell yeah, bring on the pizza. Dean brought up a slice and took a small bite. 

“That is inaccurate.” Cas entered from the back, tugging on the hem of his shirt. Bobby had kindly washed his clothes of the night before. “You had fainted on the dance floor. I took care of you until Sam found us.”

Dean didn’t really remember that part, but he did have a gap between looking for Sam and puking outside. At least his story made sense. Cas brushed past him, dragging his hand over Dean’s shoulder and it nearly stopped his heart. Sam said nothing as Cas’s hand lingered behind his head, squeezing at the muscles of neck. 

“You feel tense again. Has your migraine returned?” Castiel’s brow furrowed and he stood behind Dean’s chair to work both hands into his neck and shoulders in earnest.

“Wha- no, it’s… Ahh.” Dean hissed and his shoulders slumped forward. He didn’t fully comprehend why Cas felt so entitled to lay his hands all over him, but it felt too good to protest against. 

At first, Dean thought that Sam would clear his throat or drag Cas away or do something that would indicate that he was not OK with his friend being all touchy-feely, but time passed and Sam didn’t mention it. The brat was smiling at them instead. 

Dean took casual bites of pizza and answered Cas when he asked about the pressure and position of his fingers. Everyone was being laid-back about the whole thing and Dean just went along for the ride. The massage would have continued beyond his last piece of crust, but Dean stilled Cas’s hands with his own. “Thank you.”

Sam’s jaw dropped a little, as if his brother expressing gratitude was the real weirdness going on. 

“And fuck you very much,” Dean added, flipping off his brother with both hands.

Cas’s laugh in response brought a whole different level of weird. The sound itself was perfectly normal: deep and gravelly. But the reaction it sent through Dean was unexpected. Heat twisted in Dean’s stomach and a blush crept up his neck. Cas’s laugh was drop-dead sexy. 

Cas moved into the chair next to him and the laugh lines were replaced with those of concern. “Do you feel OK?” There were those hands again, this time feeling his forehead and cheeks as if for fever. It was almost like Cas was looking for any excuse to touch him and Dean was surprised to feel he didn’t mind.

“I’m good,” Dean said and his voice came gentler than he intended. He pulled Cas’s hand down from his face and brought it to the table. It was a tender moment between them, rewarded by a smile that seemed to start in Cas’s eyes and not quite reach his lips. When Dean didn’t let go of his hand or gaze right away, he knew he could count on Sam to make it awkward.

“So, Dean, now that you’re feeling better, maybe you guys can take that trip to get Cas’s car?” Sam smiled knowingly, blatantly staring at their hand-holding. “But, you know, keep both hands on the wheel. Ten and two,” he snarked as he mimed the action. 

Castiel started to protest, still worried that Dean’s headache may return, but Dean insisted. 

* * *

After a quick, much needed, shower and a change of clothes, Dean took Cas back to the venue. During the hour-long ride, Dean and Castiel kept up a companionable silence. It was nice not having to fill the space between them with idle banter and Dean found himself enjoying the ride instead of thinking of it as a chore. 

He pulled up next to the gold Trans Am Cas pointed out and apologized for monopolizing his Saturday. 

Castiel shrugged as they parked. “It was unfortunate that you became sick.” There was a pause before he continued, straight-forward and without embarrassment. “I would very much have liked to dance with you.” 

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. One thing he remembers quite clearly about that night was the so-called “music” and he wouldn’t label what the crowd was doing “dancing” either. 

Cas tipped his head forward, looking down at the hands folded in his lap. Dean read the rejection in his silence and realized he really shouldn’t be insulting the guy who put up with him - a stranger - puking and (if memory served him correctly) cuddling with him all night. 

Sam was right. Cas is a good guy and if he wanted to dance to the sounds of Cold War sirens and popping balloons, Dean should just do it. Cas deserved a little credit and a good time, especially after Dean ruined his night at the concert. 

Dean wanted to make it up to him, but he had no idea what the guy liked. All he knew was that he was kind, he had apparently terrible taste in music, and his thighs were more comfortable than any pillow Dean had ever owned. That, wait, that was real, wasn’t it? Dean wondered if any of his memories were only a dream. “You like Spiderman movies, Cas?” 

“I enjoy a full spectrum of movie genres, Dean.” Cas considered the question, furrowing his brow as if deep in thought. He took his time to respond with honesty. “Superhero action films are pleasurable, but I also find suspense and thrillers to be quite appealing.” He made no move toward the door; instead he turned to face Dean more fully.

Dean smiled at Cas’s response, feeling encouraged that the guy seemed in no rush to leave the car. “That new Avengers movie came out.” His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly, to keep from shaking in his nervousness. “I heard it’s good. You wanna see it?”

“Yes, I suppose I would be interested in seeing it at some point.” 

Dean shook his head. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. “No, not like… With me? Tomorrow?”

Cas gave a curious head tilt as he observed the pink glow of Dean’s cheeks. “It would be considered a date?”

“Yeah, Cas, a date.” Dean shrugged. “Sammy and I have this rule where we don’t date each other’s friends, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with… us… at the house so…”

Castiel didn’t seem to need any further explanation as he was already drawing out his cell phone and asking for Dean’s number. “If you would like to meet up at a theater, there is one mid-way between us.” He pulled up movie times and driving directions, intent on making plans before they parted ways.

Dean watched on with a kind smile. When it looked like Cas was getting frustrated, Dean scooted closer to him on the bench. He rested his chin over Cas’s shoulder and looked at the phone with him as he scrolled through their options.

“It appears the show times for tomorrow have been sold out.” He frowned down at the screen. His excitement regarding the date had bloomed in his chest so suddenly that to feel it whither was almost painful.

But Dean surprised him with his next question, “What else did you want to see?” His voice was hushed in Cas’s ear, like he understood what lie between them was delicate.

“Ex Machina had caught my interest,” his response equally soft.

“We’ll see that, then.” Dean decided with quiet resolve. “Save Age of Ultron for our next date.”

Castiel saw Dean’s lopsided grin through the corner of his eye. It was confident and sure, and very close. Dean’s calm eased Castiel’s worry. They remained cheek to cheek as they planned out Sunday’s date and the date after that. 


End file.
